They’re Not My Parents
Spotted in the window of “Hail Mary, I’m Home” in Surry Hills.
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The Busy/Quiet Time
As you may have seen on the news, we had quite a big hail storm in Sydney this week. Or should I say hail storms? There were two distinct storm periods in my part of Sydney, separated by a half-hour period of stunningly bright sunshine. I’m lucky to live in the middle floors of an apartment block, and so I’m generally protected from all weather extremes – never really too hot, never really too cold, and usually well protected from the elements like rain and hail. But unlike previous storms, I was slightly anxious about this one, as hail stones came down through the open areas of the apartment block. I thought they were going to cause damage, but thankfully all was okay.
Of course, there was the big hail storm of the late 1990s which caused many millions of dollars of damage, but the last memorable hail storm in my area was twelve years ago. Though I don’t remember exactly when it occurred, from the photographs, you could have sworn it was winter.
For most of my colleagues this week, things have quietened considerably. By Friday, there were only five of us in an office space that normally houses about twenty people. Most people are taking leave, returning on January 7, I’m working through. With my role, it’s actually quite a busy time, as I take on the reins while others take a break. But at the same time, it’s also quite a nice time of the year to work.
At this time of the year, Sydney is delightfully quiet. You can walk to work and not have to worry too much about the traffic. With fewer people at work, there are less distractions, with fewer emails to respond to, and only a handful of essential meetings. So for me, this is a really nice time.
So I’m not going home for Christmas this year. I’ll be spending it with a friend and a few other people who she also described as “orphans”.
I’ll head up to Lismore some time in February, I think. One family member has a few “legal problems”, while another is going in to have surgery on her knees. I’m not sure if I’ll be a help or a hindrance being there, but it seems like a good time to plan a brief holiday.
Oh yeah, and for the next two weeks, I’ve vowed to wear shorts to work.
Glass Menagerie
In the back of my mind, there’s a vague fragment of a slither of a memory of having seen a production of “The Glass Menagerie” about twenty-five years ago (or more likely more) at a theatre in Brisbane. La Boite Theatre, maybe? Even so, my memory doesn’t extend much beyond the image of a woman sitting at the front of the stage obsessing over her small glass figurines. Without much of a memory beyond that, being Tennesee Williams, I just assumed there would have been repressed homosexual men with alcohol problems and unsatisfied women with mental health issues. I’m being silly of course, but you have to admit, these are characteristics you do find in other works by him including “Cat On A Hot Tin Roof” and “A Streetcar Named Desire” which are two of my favouite plays of all time.
As we made our way to Belvoir Street Theatre last night, Sue read out loud the article on Wikipedia outlining the plot until the point where we both decided we had reached “spoiler” territory. But in short, and without a spoiler, it’s a play set in 1910/1920s America, the South, about a woman and her two children, none of whom are very happy with their lives. The mother was deserted by her husband many years ago, forcing her to raise her children by herself, both of whom she describes as “not normal”: the daughter has a slight disability, and the son goes out drinking most nights, with a slight suggestion he might also be homosexual. The plot-line centres around the mother’s desire for her daughter to be “married off before it’s too late”.
Before the play started last night the director came out to explain this was the first public preview after an intense week of technical rehearsals. “This could be really good or you might be witnessing one of the worst, most memorable moments of Australian theatre”, he joked. It was pretty evident shortly into the production why the technical rehearsals had been so intense: this production relies HEAVILY (in the first half at least) on video effects. Screens to the left and right of the stage feature images captured from on-stage cameras in the style, I’m guessing, of a 1940s movie. Sue and I both agreed the reliance on the narrator on stage to have to move the cameras around became distracting. We both found we sometimes spent more time watching him than we did watching the action on stage. The set, although really clever, was also a little distracting, as much of the action took place at the back of the stage behind a flimsy see-through curtain. We both really understood what they’re trying to achieve with the set and video, but it just didn’t do it for us.
Which is a shame, because it’s a really good play. “It’s much more complex than I’d imagined”, I whispered to Sue at one point. If you’ve grown up in a family with any degree of dysfunctionality, you’ll immediately realise how believably flawed the characters are. The performance by the actor who played the daughter, Laura was, in particular, really good: really honest, really authentic etc.
It will be interesting to see how audiences and critics judge the production as it opens in coming weeks, being mindful of what the director said last night.
My IKEA Bag
I’m surprised I didn’t get more strange looks with my IKEA shopping bag packed with a collection of Swedish food. I had conflicting commitments tonight, both of which I really wanted to attend, so I did both. There was a gathering of some colleagues from around Australia, a number of whom I was really wanting to see. But it was also the final Swedish class for the year, and a mini “Christmas Party”,
“I’d love to come, I really would”, I told one of my bosses when he invited me along. But in doing so I emphasised how much I really couldn’t stay for the entire night due to class. So I took along my IKEA bag full of Swedish confectionary with me to the restaurant.
The question “What have you got in there?” led to some wonderful “show and tell”. Deep down I’m sure a few of my colleagues think I’m borderline certifiable, but most thought it was great to have an interest that I felt so passionate about.
By the time I arrived at class the “hard work” for the night had been done. The verbs, the grammar. Yikes. I arrived just in time for a conversation about favourite restaurants and cuisine, for listening to and translating some songs from Swedish into English, and for some general chit-chat in Swedish.
When our teacher speaks reasonably slowly and simply in Swedish, I love the fact that I can understand and respond in a reasonably simple manner.
“I could never have a terribly sophisticated conversation, but I could get by with some small talk and chit-chat”, I told a colleague over dinner when he asked about how good or bad my Swedish skills were.
After class I noted to Grant I’ve got just four classes until I go back to Sweden. Can you believe that? It’s so soon and there’s so much to do.
Grant has set himself some language goals for the next year, and I suspect that would be a good idea for myself also.
